Here’s what I’ve learned: living in a small town like Faringdon isn’t about the postcard views. It’s about belonging to a story that’s bigger than your own. That delivery driver—he’ll remember the wonky chimney, and maybe next time he’ll smile at the old guy with the dog.
I’m not arguing everyone should move here. But if you ever pass through, slow down. Get a pasty from the bakery. Have a chat with Marge. You might just feel that strange pull—the one that makes you think, “I could live here, too.”
And if you do? Well, you’d better like wonky chimneys and overfriendly terriers. I’m Billy’s human, but I’m also Faringdon’s—and that’s just fine by me.
